Dororthy, Lloyd and the Perfect Home

Dorothy and Lloyd met at an open house. They both fell in love with the same shuttered windows, the veranda, the spacious yard. He admired the strong mantle while she melted over the hardwood floors and butcher's block in the kitchen. It pulled to them both and neither could afford it on their own. They exchanged smiles at the doorway when he held it for her exit. Eventually, they met for drinks and decided the place was too good to pass up. It was the perfect house, in the perfect neighborhood, on the perfect street.

The owners, however, would not sell to a single resident -- their lone condition was that a family buy the dream home. So Dorothy and Lloyd got married within a month and closed on the residence within the next 4. The original owners went so far as to bring a contract with them -- should Dorothy and Lloyd ever separate, the home would be forfeit.

They put on the guise of love to their families -- after all, Lloyd was no Brad Pitt and Dorothy was a decade older than the typical blushing bride. But at home, in the most comfortable of spaces, he never touched her. She was abused as a child and he was deathly afraid of women. They slept in separate beds, had entirely different friends, each bought groceries for their own specific needs.

Each was ecstatic about the home, its beauty, its location, but at the end of the day, dreaded walking through its arched doorway. He smelled bad and she watched reality television. The were both tired of the silence, the ashamed looks, the tossing and turning at night when it felt like the home kept them awake, forcing them to look at one another. Marriage was never so uncomfortable.